


Stark Tower Thursday Night Stitch 'n Bitch

by PaxieAmor



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Knitting, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Randomness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxieAmor/pseuds/PaxieAmor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with a walk around a small New York town. It turned into something Clint Barton didn't know he needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Avengers and all related characters (c) Marvel; Sally (c) me. The Alfred Knitting Studio is a real yarn shop in Alfred, New York and you should all go there the next time you're in the area. All names of real people have been changed for the sake of their sanity
> 
> So, this was supposed to be a crack fic dealing with Clint ending up at my old knitting group back in New York, but it's slowly becoming something more. We'll see how far it goes!

The small college town of Alfred, New York likely had its redeeming qualities, but at that particular moment, Clint Barton was hard pressed to find any. The word “small” barely hinted at how tiny the place was; they had one traffic light, and apparently, in 2004 there had been a huge ceremony to commemorate the 30th anniversary of its installation.

Never before had he wanted so badly to be somewhere, _anywhere_ else.

Like most things that annoyed the hell out of him, this was all Tony Stark’s fault. Tony Stark, who had been invited to judge a robotics tournament at one of the two colleges in Alfred (How, Clint wondered, _how_ did such a small town have _two_ colleges), the SUNY College of Technology at Alfred State. The engineering department was somehow impressive enough for Tony to actually say yes (something about a naked furby being used as a teaching aid) and he insisted that he needed Bruce to come with because of reasons (someone needed to get him away from tumblr) and he needed Clint along for security.

Phil Coulson came along to make sure Clint didn’t strangle Tony. And he brought his taser.

The worst part about the whole thing was that Tony didn’t even _need_ Clint there for anything, let alone security. Because you know who else came with? Captain Steve Rogers, AKA Tony’s Star-Spangled boyfriend, who was all the security Tony was going to need. So, during the afternoon of day one of a three day competition, Clint found himself wandering the small town on foot, walking across its entirety in about an hour. When he was bored with that, he moved towards the outskirts, which was apparently known as Tinkertown and was slightly more interesting than the rest of Alfred. There was a small hardware store that advertised Fridays as being Pie Day (pity, today was Thursday; he would have to check it out tomorrow if he hadn’t completely lost his mind), a Dollar General, a karate dojo. Further down was the post office, an antique shop, a country store… and one that caught his eye more than others.

To most, it would look like a regular two-story house; white exterior with a nice sized covered porch, the steps in slight need of repair. But there was a sign hanging from the ceiling of the porch that told of its true purpose: Alfred Knitting Studio.

Believe it or not, Clint had fond memories about knitting. The bearded lady at the circus would knit during her spare time and gifts from her were always knitted. Sweaters and socks at Christmas, stuffed toys, mittens and scarves for birthdays. Once, she had knitted Clint a belt to go with his costume; he worn it until it didn’t fit anymore, kept it in his drawer until it was beyond repair. It hurt when he finally threw it away, he’d never be able to get another one like it, not even if he knitted it himself.

Yes, thanks to that same bearded lady, Clint Barton knew how to knit. It had been years since he’d done so, though, and he was likely more than a little rusty. That didn’t stop him from opening the door to the shop and stepping inside.

The shop was _filled_ with yarn. That was to be expected, of course, but this was borderline insane. The walls were made of shelves holding more types of yarn than Clint knew existed. Even the checkout counter had shelves that held yarn. Where there wasn’t yarn, there were books on knitting and crocheting, as well as supplies for both techniques. Clearly Clint had stumbled upon the Mecca for local yarn crafters.

“Hello there!” a cheerful voice called from Clint’s left. He walked towards the voice and found another room; much like the first, it was circled by shelves that were filled with yarn. In the center of the room was a table, covered in different types of cookies and a few coffee mugs. Circled around that, backed against the shelved walls were various chairs, some filled with people and some empty. One of the filled chairs held a woman. She was kindly looking with shoulder length silver hair and a warm smile.

“Are you here to join us?” she asked, letting Clint know she was the one who’d greeted him a moment before. He glanced around at the other people in the room, noticing that all of them were holding a knit or crochet project; he’d stumbled into a knitting group.

“I don’t want to intrude,” he replied, starting to back towards the door.

“Nonsense,” the woman replied, gesturing towards one of the open chairs. “We have plenty of room!” Clint hesitated a moment before taking a seat next to a young brunette, the only one working with a crochet hook. “I’m Lydia, mister…?”

“I’m Clint.”

“Hello, Clint. My husband Fred is in the back… would you like a coffee?” Almost on cue, a man poked his head out of the back room.

“Coffee’ll be a moment,” he said. “Get your order in now!”

“Coffee’d be great,” he replied. “Just milk, if that’s alright?”

“Perfectly.” Lydia took a moment to introduce the rest of the group; Paul (who was the manufacturer of the yarn Clint was sitting in front of), his daughter Trish and her son Ben, Zelda (who was working on such an intricate sweater that it made Clint’s head spin) and Sally, the crocheter, who smiled at him shyly… yet knowingly.

“Do you have a project you’re working on?” Paul asked. Clint shook his head.

“Nah, I’m just in town for the weekend; didn’t think to pack anything, thought I’d be busier than this.”

“Knit or crochet?” Trish asked.

“Knit; never tried to crochet.”

“Sal would be the one to teach you if you ever want to learn,” Zelda said with a smile. “She somehow manages to teach ten-year-olds to do it.”

“It’s amazing what kids will learn when given no choice,” Sally replied with a grin, not looking up from whatever she was working on, something red and circular; a hat, possibly.

“It’s how I got through high school,” Clint admitted, getting a laugh from the room.

“I’ve got some needles on me I’m not using,” Sally said, digging into her bag. It was black with a wire frame that kept it standing, and some embroidery on one side; her name in white lettering with red peace sign in the shape of a heart.

“I don’t have any yarn,” Clint said as Sally held two size 8 needles to him. He couldn’t really call them a pair, as he was pretty sure most pairs were not made up of two different colored needles. One was gold, the other was green.

“Details,” Sally replied, waiving her hand dismissively before reaching back into the bag and pulling out a skein of sparkly purple yarn, handing it to him with the needles. “Knit and be happy.”

How long had it been, Clint wondered, since he’d last picked up a pair of needles and some yarn and made something. Before the whole thing with Loki, definitely… probably that pair of black alpaca socks he’d made for Natasha last Christmas. She’d actually smiled at him when she opened the gift, wore them that day and many times after. He’d actually repaired them for her more than once.

Somehow during that happy memory, Clint had cast on forty or so stitches and was working a rib stitch. As far as he could tell, he was making a scarf; Darcy would like a scarf, probably.

The rest of the group was chattering on about something that was happening locally (he wasn’t really listening to what exactly), while they sipped their coffee and nibbled their cookies. Clint was surprised how relaxed he was right now; he wasn’t thinking about Loki, or S.H.I.E.L.D, or how much of a complete jackass Tony Stark could be… he was thinking ‘knit, purl’ over and over, and how much his girl (Okay, she wasn’t his _yet_ , but he was working on it) was going to like the scarf…

“You’re Clint Barton, aren’t you?” Sally’s voice was soft and she didn’t look away from her crocheting.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he replied, keeping his voice low as well. “How’d you know?” She looked up at him, her brown eyes twinkling a little as she brushed a strand of black hair out of them.

“I’m good like that.” She cut the red she was working with and attached some gold. “You doing okay?” Her question caught him by surprise. “I have a friend in S.H.I.E.L.D who talks too much when he gets drunk and plays Galaga on the Helicarrier bridge.”

“I remember Stark mentioning that guy… so he told you what happened to me?”

“Yeah. I ended up getting recruited a few days ago.” She grinned, shrugging her shoulders a little. “Apparently wrangling ten year olds makes me qualified to work with you all.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I’m supposed to meet with an Agent Coulson tomorrow.”

“So you’ll be coming with us to back New York?”

“As long as they don’t decide I’m a threat that needs to be neutralized.” She looked around at the rest of the group, all of whom were knitting away and talking amongst themselves, not paying attention to any conversations that weren’t their own. “Either way, I wanted to see my friends one more time before I go.”

“I know what you mean,” Clint replied honestly. He knew the feeling all too well; as much as he wanted to, he hadn’t been able to leave the circus without saying goodbye to everyone.

“If I do end up in New York,” Sally continued as she kept with her crocheting. “We should keep this up.” Clint raised an eyebrow at her.

“This?”

“Knitting group. Thursday night Stitch and Bitch, you know?” She looked up at him, smiling a little. “Might do us both some good, you know?” Clint thought about that for a moment.

“Yeah, sure; it couldn’t hurt.”


	2. Chapter 2

After knitting group that night, Sally offered Clint a ride back to wherever he was staying, which he would have accepted, if not for the fact that Coulson was waiting with a car outside.

“Nice wheels,” Sally said approvingly. “What is that, one of the new Acura TLs?”

“It is,” Coulson replied, stoic as ever.

“With the tech pack?”

“With the tech pack.” Sally raised her eyebrows slightly, but didn’t say anything else on the subject. She turned to Clint, smiled brightly and shook his hand.

“Nice meeting you, Clint,” she replied, her tone of voice matching her smile perfectly. “I hope your person likes that scarf you’re making.”

“I…” Clint stammered, feeling a blush come to his cheeks. “I don’t have a… a person…” Her smile turned to a mischievous grin, her eyes twinkling slightly.

“Finish that scarf, and maybe you will.” With that, she walked towards a car at the end of the block, a rusted out Crown Victoria that sounded like it could explode at any moment when she fired it up.

“Who’s your new friend?” Phil asked as they watched her drive into the darkness.

“You should know,” Clint replied as he got into Coulson’s car. “She said she’s got a meeting with you tomorrow.” Coulson raised an eyebrow before getting into the driver’s seat.

“ _That_ was Salvatore Knight?” Clint shrugged his shoulders.

“I was unaware she had a last name, or that her first was Salvatore. Everyone just called her Sally.”

“I was expecting a man…”

“Oh?”

“Salvatore is a male name.”

“I know, I watch Mythbusters.” Coulson rolled his eyes, put the car in drive and drove off towards their hotel, which was about fifteen minutes away in the slightly larger city of Hornell. The hotels in the area were small, not up to the normal standards of Tony Stark; he originally planned to stay in Buffalo or Rochester and just commute to Alfred for each day of the competition, but was told by Steve that this was “wasteful” and “excessive” (which is why Tony didn’t just commute from New York each day) and “there are likely some very nice hotels in the area”.

They were staying at a Comfort Inn, which was a very nice place, but it wasn’t a normal place Tony Stark would stay in. Clint assumed that Steve was finding ways to make it up to him.

“So?” Coulson asked after they had been driving for a while, prompting Clint to look at him.

“So, what?”

“Impressions of Miss Knight?” Clint shrugged his shoulders.

“She seems like a good kid,” Clint replied honestly. “She knew who I was, didn’t draw attention to it… she asked me if I was alright.”

“And people don’t normally?”

“Not like that… she asked because she really wanted to know, not because she’s some shrink trying to make sure I’m not going to go postal and kill everyone…”

He hadn’t meant to tell Coulson that. His handler was the closest thing Clint had to a best friend, and he would have been much happier if he’d never told himthat. Ideally, he didn’t want to tell anyone that, but he knew better than to try to hide things from Natasha. Natasha, who was more like his sister than anything else, who could read him like a book (or in his case, a trashy magazine) and play him like a board game. He would be stupid to think Natasha wouldn’t find out about the agents who watched him (pardon the pun) like a hawk following the Chitauri invasion, about the various SHIELD therapists who were trying to force him into treatment…

“I should assign her to you then.”

“What?” Clint knew Coulson would likely pass over his remark, letting his revelation go until Clint was ready to talk about it. He didn’t expect this.

“You’re comfortable with her,” Coulson continued. “She could be useful to you.”

“As what, target practice?”

“I was thinking more ‘personal assistant’.”

“Why the hell would I need a PA?”

“To actually get you debriefings.”

“Isn’t that what I have you for?”

“I’m your field handler; she’ll be your civilian handler.” Coulson had that look on his face again; that look that said no matter what Clint Barton said in the next five minutes, he was getting a personal assistant.

“Can I call her my civilian handler?” he asked.

“You can call her whatever you want, as long as she’s okay with it.” Coulson pulled into the Comfort Inn and parked the car. “My meeting with her is at nine tomorrow; make sure you’re ready for it.” Clint nodded, grabbed his knitting and headed to his room. He wasn’t remotely interested in anything the small town had to offer in the way of recreations; he was very much interested in getting that scarf done. Not just done, _perfect_. Darcy deserved nothing less than that.

Darcy Lewis was pretty in her looks, beautiful in all the ways that mattered. She was smart and on her, it was damn sexy; sharp tongued, quick with a joke, quicker to laugh at one made at her expense… and if she realized he was flirting with her, she didn’t seem to care. She hung out with him when they weren’t on duty, watched crap reality television and ate terrible, _terrible_ food. They were friends, and man, didn’t that just feel like a kick to the gut.

Clint tried to forget her after she left New Mexico to work with Doctor Foster and he stayed behind to watch Selvig and the Tesseract. It wasn’t easy, because she would email him every day, at least once a day. The subject was always the same; “I know you’re busy, but…” and from there she would ramble on about anything on her mind. He couldn’t always answer right away, but he always would when the chance arose.

She emailed him while he was with Loki and Clint was glad he didn’t check his email during that time, as there was no way he would have been able to work his way around Loki asking who she was. He’d barely managed to keep her a secret from the Asgardian Asshole; he never asked the question right. He didn’t ask if there was someone Clint was interested in. He asked if Clint “had a woman”, and because of that, Clint was truthfully able to say no.

Darcy wasn’t his. Maybe someday, she would be.

First, he had to finish the scarf.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, it's been how long since I updated this? x_x

Coulson woke him up the next morning by banging on his door much louder than necessary, and, goddamn him, looking like he just walked out of dinner with the fucking President.

Clint looks like he wrestled a bear with one hand tied behind his back while sword fighting ninjas with his toes. And he knows it.

“Get dressed,” Coulson said. “We have to go pick up Miss Knight.”

“From where?” Clint asked with a yawn, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. The answer he got was not one he expected.

“Hornell City Jail. Apparently, she used up her one phone call to ask if we could reschedule our meeting.”

***

“Alright, Sal,” Clint heard an officer say, followed by the clicking of keys inside a lock. “The guy’s refusing to press charges against you… something about walking into a chair.”

“That’s what I tried to tell you,” Sally replied. “I was picking up a chair to kill a spider and he had the grave misfortune to walk into the chair.” Clint clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter, earning him a glare from Coulson. A small smile was threatening to curl the senior agent’s lips, but he remained stoic as ever.

“Even though he didn’t press charges,” the officer continued, “he’s taken out a restraining order against you. You need to stay away from him, and his girlfriend.”

“I’ll stay away from him if he stays away from her,” came the indignant reply.

“That’s not how the law works…”

“Then the law is wrong.”

“Oh god,” Clint said with a chuckle. “Can we keep her?”

“She’s not a dog, Agent Barton,” Coulson replied.

“Yeah,” Sally added, as she walked out from the holding cell area, strolling over to the pair. “And I don’t know who keeps saying otherwise, but I’m not into that sort of thing. I swear, you let a girl put a collar on you _once_ , everyone thinks…”

“What happened to your eye?” Coulson asked, his own narrowing slightly. Clint hadn’t noticed the bruise forming until the senior agent mentioned it, and now that he had, Clint was unable to notice anything else. Judging by the reddish color, and the fact she didn’t have it at the knitting group the night before, the bruise was a recent one; it completely encircled her left eye, swelling to the point where it was almost completely closed. It didn’t seem to bother Sally, however. She simply shrugged her shoulders, a grin appearing on her face.

“Walked into a doorway,” she stated plainly, signing for her things as she spoke. “Them things are sneaky bastards. One moment you’re minding your own business, and then suddenly bam! Door.” She took her wallet and her keys, shoving both into her front pockets. The sleeves of her jacket rode up slightly on her arms, allowing Clint to see some other bruises forming there as well. “See you next week, Clarky?” Clarky (the officer, Clint realized) looked puzzled for a moment before smiling, nodding his head.

“Right, yeah! See you then!”

“What happens next week?” Clint asked as they walked out towards Coulson’s car.

“Casino Night at Maple City Bowl,” Sally replied. “Twenty bucks gets you in the door with ‘five thousand dollars’ (she actually did the finger quotes; it made Clint grin) that you can use to play Black Jack, slots, Texas Hold ‘Em… you can buy more chips if you run out and when you’re done, you trade the chips in for raffle tickets for prizes and the money goes to charity.” She stretched her arms over her head, yawning. “Last year, we raised almost twenty k for the American Cancer Society, we’re hoping to do just as well this year.”

“When next week?” Coulson asked.

“Saturday, why?”

“Just want to make sure we can get you back for it.” Sally raised her eyebrows.

“Are you hiring me, sir?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not you’re going to tell me how you got that black eye, and the rest of your bruises.” Sally looked him over, seemingly weighing her options.

“Tell you over breakfast,” she said after a moment. “I’ve been in lock up since around ten last night, and if I don’t get something to eat, I’ll probably pass out.”

The Country Kitchen (“One of the few places that doesn’t do the whole ‘misspell words in order to look cute’ bullshit,” Sally pointed out) was on a back road just outside of the city of Hornell in what was known as Hornellsville. It was a smaller place, but not tiny. It was homey, comfortable… Clint liked it.

He didn’t like being stopped just inside the door however.

“Hey Sally,” a waitress said, more than a bit of hesitation in her voice. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in this morning…”

“I’m sorry, what?” Clint asked. “You’re refusing…”

“Clint,” Sally said calmly, putting a hand on his arm. “It’s fine. I understand.” Clint looked at her, only to see that she wasn’t looking back at him. Her eyes were on a pair at a table a few yards away; a blonde woman who looked completely uncomfortable with her situation and a smarmy man who was looking right at Sally, smirking as he toasted her with his coffee cup. “We can go somewhere else.”

“Is that the man from last night?” Coulson asked, looking him over. “The one who issued the restraining order?” Sally nodded.

“Yeah, that’s Ryan… he knows I eat here every Friday, he’s just being an asshole about it. The woman with him is my friend, Abby.”

“Ryan what?”

“Kressley… why?” Clint smiled as Coulson took out his phone and made a call. Coulson was running the douchebag’s name, looking for anything that he could find on this man; if there was anything shady in Kressley’s past, Coulson would find it.

“Again, Sally,” the waitress said, still looking upset. “I can’t let you come in… he showed Marty the court order and everything…”

“Als, it’s okay,” Sally insisted. “I can go somewhere else this week, it’s no big deal…” Als, who’s name tag read ‘Alison’, smiled for the first time since they walked in.

“Actually, you don’t have to.” Als walked over to the window between the service counter and the kitchen and picked up a take-out container. “Marty had Ralph whip up your usual so it’d be ready when you got here.” She handed the box over to Sally. “On the house.”

In the few hours he’d known her, Clint had seen Sally grin multiple times, a small smile once or twice, but he’d never seen her truly beam like she was right now. Her eyes were glistening slightly, her mouth hanging open slightly with the corners turned up into the brightest smile he’d ever seen. She was beautiful.

“Thank you,” she replied wholeheartedly, her voice wavering slightly. “Thank you so much.”

“I mean this in the nicest way possible,” Als said with a grin. “But get the hell out.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be necessary,” Coulson said as he hung up his phone. Before anyone could ask what he meant, the sounds of sirens filled the air. Kressley, who had been eyeing the trio suspiciously since Coulson pulled out his phone, suddenly turned pale. Seconds later, he got to his feet and sprinted towards the back of the restaurant.

“What’d you find on him?” Clint asked a moment later as he and Coulson watched through the front window as members of the Hornell City Police Department tackle Kressley to the ground.

“It would seem that Mr. Kressley has a long history of domestic abuse in other states,” Coulson replied. “One of his girlfriends was found dead six months ago at her home in Texas. A Ranger friend of mine will be coming to pick him up in a couple days for that particular offense.”

“Sounds good to me, how about you, Sal?” Clint turned from the window to see her response and found that she wasn’t anywhere near them; Sally was sitting next to her friend (Abby, Clint remembered), hugging her close as the woman cried into Sally’s chest. The way she was bent allowed Clint to see that she too had been Kressley’s victim. Clint could just barely read the woman’s lips as she spoke, telling Sally over and over that she was so sorry for what Ryan had done, that she had been so stupid for staying with him. He didn’t see Sally’s reply, but he saw that it made Abby hug her tighter.

He couldn’t wait to start working with her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter includes mentions of attempted rape. There are no scenes depicting it, but I'm warning for it anyway!

Sally Knight does not like flying. She also doesn’t like most country music released after 2004, any rap not released by Puff Daddy and/or Biggy Smalls, and her opinions on pop music would eat away about an hour of your life that you’d never get back. She listens to classical when she can’t sleep, audio books when she works out and spends her nights watching crime shows, mixing documentaries and prime time dramas.

She thinks McDanno needs to be canon and has a Tumblr dedicated to the subject (Clint decides to start watching _Hawaii 5-0_ ).

She insanely misses her ex-girlfriend.

Clint learns all of this because Sally refuses to ride in cars that she isn’t driving and he made the mistake of volunteering to make the five hour trip back to New York with her. They weren’t taking her Crown Vic; Tony had taken one look at it and swore that it wouldn’t make it to Elmira, let alone all the way to the city.

“I’m not leaving my car here indefinitely,” Sally protested.

“You’re on SHIELD payroll!” Tony protested right back. “You can buy a new car! A brand new one, all shiny and pretty and…”

“I want _my_ car.” The definitive tone of her voice made everyone flinch slightly. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her stance was that of someone not about to back down. “The car comes with me, one way or another.”

Clint would never say it to his face, but based upon how quickly Stark arranged for Sally’s car to be trucked to the city, he was believed that Stark was slightly afraid of her.

He was in good company.

“We sang Bobby McGee on the hood of my car,” she crooned as they drove through Binghamton. “Made a wish on every star in that clear September sky…”

“One bottle of wine and two Dixie cups,” Clint continued, earning an impressed grin from Sally. “Three AM, I fell in love for the first time in my life.”

“Oh, that’s something,” they sang. “That just don’t happen twice.”

"So tell me about her," Sally said after they'd finished their duet.

"Who?"

"Whoever you're knitting that scarf for. Props, by the way, I can't crochet in the car." Clint chuckled a little, looking at the project in his lap. It was longer than it had been when Sally last saw it, despite his frogging a few rows more than once due to dropped stitches and having fewer stitches than he was supposed to. It would be done eventually he was sure.

"I hope not,” he commented, starting a new row. “You're the one driving."

"My point exactly."

"Why don't you let other people drive you places?"

"Because I haven't developed telekinesis and can't control other people's driving. I can, however, control my own.” There’s hurt there, Clint realizes.  Hurt over something she couldn’t control, so she controls what she can.

“Her name’s Darcy,” he replies, because Sally looks upset now and he doesn’t know how to deal with things like that. “We met at work, it was… different.”

“You’re on a team of super heroes, how much more ‘different’ can it get?”

“She tasered Thor.” Sally let out a low whistle, a grin creeping across her face.

“Sounds like a keeper to me.”

“I know, right?” He could feel a grin forming on his own face, much goofier than the one Sally was sporting. “She’s hot as hell, funny, smart… we became friends after the whole New Mexico thing…”

“New Mexico thing?”

“Pretty sure I can’t explain it more than that without killing you.”

“Fair enough.”

“We lost touch after the Chitauri invasion, but she recently started working for SHIELD…”

“And there’s still feelings?”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “There’s still feelings. She’s young though…”

“Jailbait?” Sally asked.

“No!” 

“Then I’m not seeing an issue. No, shut up (Clint wasn’t sure how she’d seen him open his mouth, her eyes were fixed on the highway in front of her); you’re both adults, yeah? If you both want this relationship, then that’s all that matters. Fuck anyone who says otherwise.”

“And if she doesn’t want a relationship? Beyond friendship, I mean.”

“Respect it and move on. Don’t take any advice from romantic comedies, seriously. Fucking dumbass movies.”

“Not that you have any strong opinions about it or anything.” It was supposed to be a joke; Clint realized how bad of a joke it was less than two seconds after saying it.

“Tell you what,” Sally said coolly, her hands gripping tighter to the steering wheel. “You have a guy start following you around after you explain that you’re not interested in him, or any other man around. Have him call you constantly, start showing up at your job, bringing you gifts… have your girl friends think it’s ‘romantic’ and tell you they don’t understand why you’re so upset. Have your guy friends tell each other that you’re being stuck up when they think you can’t hear them…” Her knuckles were turning white from the force with which she was gripping the steering wheel, and Clint was sure he could see tears coming to her eyes. “Because that’s what romantic comedies tell you, isn’t it? If a guy—or a girl! I’ve seen it both ways! If a guy or a girl keeps trying, if they push harder, they’ll wear the other person down and they’ll get what they want! Doesn’t matter that it’s _fiction_ , clearly that’s how it’s supposed to work!”

She pulled the car over, put it into park and leaned back against her seat. She closed her eyes, causing tears to roll down her cheeks. Clint just sat there, listening to her staggered breathing as she fought back full blown sobs. He really felt like a dick, but he didn’t know what to do about it.

“Go through all that,” she continued after a moment, “and keep saying no. Get a restraining order, be told you’re overreacting… and then, have it be your fault when the guy decides to break into your home and tries to rape you.”

Clint wasn’t sure why he decided to reach over and hug Sally, but some of his best ideas are never thought through. He knows this is a good one because she hugs him back.

The rest of her story came in spurts between sobs: the man tried to rape her, but she was able grab a pair of scissors from her bedside table and stab him in the shoulder. She screamed at the top of her lungs, waking most of her apartment building, all of whom called 911. When the cops arrived, he had caught up to Sally in the kitchen and was straddling her on the floor, his hands tight around her throat; he was shot twice by the first officer on the scene when he wouldn’t let go. He didn’t make it.

“His family started saying things about me,” Sally said, wiping her eyes. “That I was a tease, I’d lead him on… they even tried convincing people that I’d lured him to my place solely to kill him.” She wiped her eyes, taking a few deep breaths. “I left after it all ended… changed my name, though I probably didn’t have to… I just wanted a fresh start, you know?” Clint nodded.

“How’d you get to New York?”

“Galaga.”

“What?”

“Agent Galaga… Agent West, really. He was that first officer on the scene; my case was his last with the department before joining SHIELD and he talked me into going to New York. I didn’t want to be in the city after what happened, but I agreed to at least go to the same state. That was about nine years ago.” She’d been a kid herself when it happened, Clint realized. His best guess put her at twenty five, twenty six at the most; nine years ago would have made her sixteen or seventeen.

“I’m sorry,” he said, because he really didn’t know what else he could say.

“Thanks,” she replied, wiping her eyes again. “It’s over now, I don’t think about it if I don’t have to… can we pretend this didn’t happen?” Clint nodded.

“If you want to talk to someone, though, I know a guy. He can probably give you the name of another guy. If you want.”

“I might take you up on that…” She yawned. “Can you drive for a bit? I think I need to crash for a little bit.” Clint was surprised, but he nodded.

“Yeah, sure.” They both exited the car, Clint climbing behind the wheel and Sally curling up in the back seat. Her back was to him, but in the rearview mirror he could see her shoulders rise and fall as she breathed heavily. He scanned the radio until he found a classical station, keeping it just loud enough for her to hear. After a few minutes, he saw her relax completely; she was asleep.

Sally slept for the rest of the trip. It wasn’t until they were driving into the Pocono Lake Preserve that Clint realized that she trusted him. She, who said she didn’t like other people driving her and gave her reasons why, was letting him drive her to New York while she slept in the back.

He hoped he deserved it.


End file.
